Answered Prayers
by Fleur27
Summary: Written for the fnl laundrylist challenge: Luke Cafferty's backstory.


**Spoilers: Through 4.02**

**Author's Note: Written for the fnl_laundrylist challenge #36, item #5: Luke's backstory. That boy broke my heart in 4.02 so I couldn't resist the opportunity to create his backstory, pretty much from whole cloth.**

**Disclaimer:** **I don't own anything here and am just doing this for fun.**

* * *

Luke Cafferty was chopping wood when he saw the Porsche Carrera pull up the long, dusty driveway. He'd been up since before dawn, tending to his chores and he still had several hours of chopping to get through.

_Must be lost_,he thought as he drove the axe down into the chopping block. He pulled off his work gloves and tucked them in his back pocket, then untied his shirt from around his waist and put it back on. Working in the sun, even in December, he was prone to overheating. His mama always said that his furnace ran overtime.

Luke wiped his hands on his jeans and headed out toward the sports car. Two men got out of the car and stood, stretching while they took in their surroundings. Luke could imagine what the place looked like to them. The dusty farmyard. The leaning old house with its peeling paint. The barn that had seen better days.

What he couldn't imagine was what the men were doing here. Car was too nice for Jehovah's Witnesses or county officials. Property developers plain weren't interested in this remote corner of Bailey County. And the way their faces lit up when they saw Luke, they didn't look like they were lost. They looked like two guys who'd found the very thing they were looking for.

"Morning, can I help you?" asked Luke.

"I hope so, son. I hope so. I'm Joe McCoy," said the taller one, extending his hand. Luke stepped forward and gave it a firm shake, looking him straight in the eye the way his daddy had taught him.

He put Joe McCoy in his mid-40s and thought he looked like a business man with his button-down shirt and carefully creased pants.

"And this here," said Joe, "is Wade Aikman. He's the coach for the Dillon Panthers."

Luke's eyes widened in recognition as he stepped forward to shake the coach's hand. Wade was younger and his sandy hair was longer, but still neatly cut. He was dressed more casually, in Dockers and a blue polo shirt.

"Your parents here, Luke? We'd like to talk to them about your future," said Joe.

Luke nodded. "Yes, sir. Just give me one minute and I'll get them for you."

Luke took the four steps up to the front porch in one fluid stride and pulled the battered screen door open. He walked into the dim foyer and headed to the kitchen, where his father was reading the newspaper and his mother was kneading bread.

"Mama, Daddy, Joe McCoy and Wade Aikman from the Dillon Panthers are here to see you....to talk about me and my future," said Luke, a bit of pride bubbling to the surface of his voice.

"The Dillon Panthers?" asked his father, sliding his reading glasses off.

"Yes, sir. The Dillon Panthers."

His father struggled to get up from his seat. Luke stepped over and effortlessly hauled him to his feet.

"Dorothy, show the men into the sitting room," said Mr. Cafferty.

Luke helped his father into the sitting room, arriving seconds after the visitors. Introductions were made and then Luke was dispatched to the kitchen to get iced tea.

Luke's mind whirred as he fixed the iced tea. What would a couple of guys from the Dillon Panthers want with him? A freshman player at Christian Boys' Academy in Causey, he'd led his team to a win at the Six-Man State Championship the previous weekend. But having the Dillon Panthers asking about him? It was like having an NFL team recruiting at a Pop Warner game.

Luke Cafferty loved football and he was good at it. He could run fast and react to situations without thinking. His coach said that he had the gift of vision. Which sounded like a simple thing, but truly_ seeing_ was anything but simple when your adrenalin was pumping, the world was spinning around you, and guys were trying to put you on the ground.

Luke had fought hard to play football too. He'd had to convince his parents, who were conservative and old-fashioned, that it wasn't just a waste of time and that it wouldn't interfere with his chores or his schoolwork. He saw hours on the clock that he knew "regular" teenagers only saw when they were partying on the weekend.

Luke picked up the tray, laden down with iced tea and cookies, and carried it carefully into the sitting room. The conversation stopped. Joe McCoy and Wade Aikman looked at him like he was a prized heifer at the county fair. His parents looked at him too, but he couldn't quite read their expressions.

He placed the tray on the table next to his mother and she took over her duties as hostess. Luke stood awkwardly, not sure if he was meant to stay and participate in this conversation.

"Are you finished chopping the wood, Luke?" asked his father.

"No, sir. It was very nice to meet you both," he said, nodding to Wade and Joe before leaving the room.

Back at the chopping block, he let the repetitive motion and familiar sounds lull him into a relaxed state of near meditation. The strange events of the day slipped from his head and he was just in the moment, chopping wood on his family's farm.

He loved the farm and he wasn't ashamed to admit that. The last couple of years, with the drought and his father's illness, had been tough. But they were all surviving, even as the drought was choking off the land as surely as the emphysema was choking off his father's lungs.

Luke heard the screen door swing open and the sound of footsteps on the front porch.

"Please, think about it," said Joe McCoy. "This is really a tremendous opportunity for your boy."

"Yes, sir, we will. We'll think and pray on it," said Mr. Cafferty. "It was awfully nice to meet you. Drive safe now."

Luke waited for his father to call him over, but all he heard were footsteps on the porch steps, two car doors slamming, and then the purring rumble of the car engine. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, pulled his shirt off and went back to chopping woods. He knew his parents would tell him, if and when they were ready.

* * *

Try as he might, Luke couldn't settle his nerves and curiosity. He wanted to know what Joe McCoy was talking about. What was this tremendous opportunity? When he went into the house for lunch, he could hear his parents whispering, but that stopped the second they heard his footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

Luke tried to put everything out of his mind, but it was still there, playing around the edges like something you nearly know, but can't quite put your finger on. It was agony, the waiting and wondering, and he could only hope that his parents put him out his misery soon.

At dinner, after they had bowed their head and given thanks for God's benevolent bounty, Luke waited for his father to speak about the visit. But his father kept his head bent over his plate of roast beef and potatoes, speaking only to ask Luke to pass the gravy.

Luke wanted to scream. Wanted to demand that his parents tell him something, anything, about what was going on. He wanted to pitch a fit, make a scene, do anything just to be heard and acknowledged. But he swallowed the impulse because he knew it would do nothing but get him in deep and serious trouble. The kind of trouble that could ruin everything, before he even had the slighted idea of what everything even was.

After dinner, Luke worked on his homework and then went to bed, still none the wiser about what had happened. He knew it had to be about football, but beyond that, he couldn't let himself hope or think about it.

* * *

Three days later, Luke's parents finally told him what was going on. The men from the Dillon Panthers, they'd seen Luke play at the Six-Man State Championship. He had impressed them and they felt he'd be a good fit for their team.

Luke felt excitement bubble up inside of him, but he knew it wasn't that simple. Dillon was almost 200 miles away.

"Wait. How could I....we'd have to move, wouldn't we?"

"That's right," said his father. "Mrs. McCoy is a real estate agent. She's going to be coming out here to help us get the house ready to sell."

Luke let that settle in his brain. "So, you mean, we're really going to do this?"

"It feels like an answer to our prayers," said his mother with a small smile. Luke knew the prayers she meant, had heard the whispered conversations late at night where his parents worried about how they were going to pay the property taxes or what they would do if that virus spread through the herd.

Luke nodded. He was going to be a Dillon Panther. Play on a real football team. The Big Time. He was ready. He never felt so ready for anything in his entire life.

* * *

Mrs. McCoy reminded Luke of a beauty queen, the way she swept in with big smiles and hearty "goodness, gracious" exclamations. It just so happened that she had a client, an eccentric from Austin who'd made a fortune with a clever software patent, who was looking to retire to a hobby farm.

Luke watched his father's face at the mention of hobby farming, but it was all heat and no action. The moment passed and Luke went back to his homework while Mrs. McCoy and his parents talked numbers and prices, strategies and staging.

The sale happened quickly, to the software eccentric, who was happy to let the Caffertys live in the house until Luke finished up the school year. Mr. Cafferty was adamant that Luke not transfer in the middle of the academic year.

He'd called the State Athletic Board and learned that since Luke was transferring from a six-man school to a full football school, he was eligible to play as soon as he enrolled. So there was no rush in their moving to Dillon, although Joe McCoy seemed to be subtly pressing them to buy a house and solidify their commitment to Dillon Panthers football.

* * *

Luke sat with his mother in the backseat of Mrs. McCoy's plush SUV, watching as the large houses with tidy lawns rolled past. Mrs. McCoy had taken them to a couple of foreclosures that she assured them were truly steals, half-a-million dollar homes available for less than a quarter-of-a-million dollars.

Luke tried to keep his eyes from bugging out as Mrs. McCoy casually tossed out these prices. He didn't know the final sale price of his parents' farm, but even with the livestock included in the sale, he reckoned it didn't come close to touching the prices that Mrs. McCoy was quoting.

Her voice was hypnotizing, droning on about adjustable rate mortgages and the employment opportunities in Dillon. Mr. McCoy was looking for someone to act as a foreman in one of his warehouses and Buddy Garrity, one of the football boosters, was always looking for a good secretary.

Luke stole a look at his father and could hear the man's labored breathing. He didn't think his father had many more working days left in him. Mr. Cafferty reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a page from the newspaper.

"Katie, we surely do appreciate your showing us these beautiful houses, but we really don't need all that space. Do you think you could show us one of these?" he said, indicating the listings he'd circled.

Mrs. McCoy pulled to the side of the road and took the paper. She squinted at it and tried to smile, but it looked more like a frozen grimace.

"Well, y'all, these are some.....interesting choices. I'd be happy to show them to you, but I want to warn you, Kilroy is, well, it's one of Dillon's older neighborhoods and some of the houses are.....fixer-uppers. I was thinking y'all might be happier with something that's in move-in condition, if you know what I mean."

"We're not afraid of a little hard work," said his father in a voice that clearly conveyed that the matter was not open to discussion. The Caffertys would buy one of the houses on that paper or they wouldn't buy in Dillon at all.

"Right, well, if you're sure," said Mrs. McCoy as she put the car back in gear and made a sweeping u-turn.

An hour later, the Caffertys made an offer on a shotgun house that had a small front porch, two bedrooms and one bathroom. The yard was scrubby and the paint was peeling, which made it feel more like home to Luke than the fancy houses they'd spent the afternoon trooping through.

The sale closed a month later and Luke was another step closer to becoming a Dillon Panther.

* * *

To keep up with his conditioning, Luke joined the track team in the spring. He could feel himself getting faster and stronger with every practice and race. His coach was already talking about Luke's chances to go to State in the 400 meters.

He was just finishing up practice on a Tuesday afternoon when he saw the now familiar Porsche pull into the school parking lot. He jogged over, greeting Mr. McCoy with a wave.

"Luke, good to see you, son. I saw in the paper you set a county record in the 400 meters last week."

"Yes, sir. I've been training real hard," said Luke with a proud grin.

"Good, glad to hear it. Luke, son, I don't know how to tell you this, but there's been a wrinkle in our plans."

"Sir?"

"Well, you really don't need to concern yourself with all the details, but the gist of it is that the school district is going to be split into two districts, and, well, right now, your street is zoned for East Dillon."

"You mean I'm not going to be a Panther?"

"No, son. It means that we've been working on making sure you stay a Panther. We're not going to abandon you. But, just to be sure, I need you to do something."

"Yes, sir, anything."

"When you register for school, use the address 2268 Oakdale Road. Repeat that to me a few times, son."

Luke did as he was told, the address searing into his memory. Then, another, more troubling thought occurred to him. "Um, sir, isn't that like lying or something?"

Mr. McCoy stepped forward and put a fatherly arm around Luke. "I understand if you're uncomfortable with this. But I really need you to do this for us. The team, we need you."

"Yes, sir, but my parents.... I don't see how they're going to be okay with this."

Mr. McCoy handed him a sheaf of papers. "Fill these out in black ink, then put them in this envelope and send them to me. I'll change the address and file them with the school district. You'll be registered and only you and me will know about the address. But, if anyone official asks you, where do you live?"

Luke scrambled to come up with the address. "2268 Oakdale Road."

"Good boy," said Mr. McCoy as he clapped him on the back.

* * *

Lying was not something Luke Cafferty excelled in. He didn't have much experience and he didn't like the guilt he was carrying. He felt like he was walking a tightrope with a squirming calf in his arms, the weight and awkwardness of the lie threatening to topple him with each step.

Two weeks after the Caffertys moved to Dillon, Luke's father had a severe stroke that landed him first in the hospital and then in the rehabilitation center. It compounded Luke's guilt and nearly felt like a punishment from God. He could barely stand to go see his father, his right arm hanging useless as he struggled to form even the most basic words.

And if it was difficult to see his father, it was tortuous to spend time with his mother. In the late evenings, after spending all day tending to her husband, Mrs. Cafferty would sit on the couch next to Luke and tell him how great God was for taking care of their family. The extra money they'd banked after the purchase of their home meant they had enough to cover these unexpected medical expenses.

The good Lord had been looking out for them. Had answered prayers that they didn't even know they had. Luke held his mother's hand and selfishly wished that he didn't have to carry the burden of lying alone, but he knew that he had to.

The answer, the only answer he could come up with, was to throw himself into Dillon Panthers football. If he ran fast enough, tackled hard enough, worked long enough, then maybe he could justify the lie. It was only a tiny thing, after all, compared to being part of a team that looked destined to win State this year.

He and JD McCoy became fast friends, since Mr. McCoy insisted that he train with JD. Luke threw himself into this new friendship the same way he was throwing himself into football: wholly and unreservedly despite any misgivings he might have about black-and-white, right-and-wrong issues.

JD McCoy was funny, smart, and a tremendously gifted athlete. Unfortunately, he was also brash and spoiled and seemed well-versed in his father's ethos of the ends justifying the means.

When it came time for Luke's first game as a Panther, Mr. McCoy payed a private nurse to bring Mr. Cafferty to the game. Luke could see him, struggling with a lopsided smile, sitting in a wheelchair up near the fence by the end zone.

On the Panthers third possession of the game, Luke burst through the line of scrimmage, straight-armed one blocker and leaped over the diving tackle of another, then raced up the sideline and into the end zone.

He looked over at his father and everything fell away. The lying, the guilt, the conflicted feelings. He let himself believe that the Lord was good, merciful, and _had_ answered prayers that he didn't even know he had.

* * *

Luke turned and walked away from Mrs. Taylor. He paused, turned back, shook his head and took a few more steps. Then he sighed and jogged back, calling after her.

"Principal Taylor, I'm real sorry for lying to you, for the whole time and for lying to you right now to your face. I'm real sorry, okay."

"I appreciate that, Luke. I do appreciate that. You'll be all right, son." The kindness in her eyes was a knife through his heart. This would be a lot easier to handle if she'd been angry or mean.

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, fighting the sobs. "Thank you."

His world had just imploded, broken dreams falling harder than the rain. Even though he'd let himself believe in Joe McCoy's insistence that special talent often necessitated special rules, a part of him had always known it was wrong.

He finally felt like he could breath again. His guilt was gone. The worst had happened and he would just keep putting one foot in front of the other until he carried the ball into the end zone. It was what he was good at and he knew the Lord would continue to keep answering the prayers that he didn't even know he had.


End file.
